chapter thirty-one-3

I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder, about to tell him that I liked him too, when I felt the vibration of his voice against my cheek. "Actually . . ." He laughed, kind of shyly. "I really like her—you." He looked at me, his expression so nervous and hesitant and endearing that I had resist the urge to smile at him. I slowly placed the bag of candies down near my thigh. "I know you said before you were still hurt about what happened and I'm—" Instead of letting him apologize for the thirtieth time that year, I leaned over and kissed him. He made a stunned noise in his throat, but he paused for only a second before moving his lips against my own and kissing me back. He tasted of mint and chocolate, and when we pulled apart, he smiled. "I've been waiting eight months to do that." I grinned, wanting to tell him what I realized I had known for so long it didn't even have a beginning anymore. Somewhere, the feeling had become a constant, like stars lit against a dark sky. "I love you," I whispered, just as he said to me in a breathy voice, "I like your hair brown." Kolby brought his lips back to mine softly, the taste of chocolate and mint sweet in my mouth, and I didn't have to wait to hear him reiterate the words back to me. His feelings hadn't wavered, hadn't disappeared like the froth over the sea or shifted into something else. Just like mine, they remained constant, just waiting for me to notice. Out of the corner of my eye, a burst of pink. "Okay, Clara, I'm totally trying to give you time to process here, but I am so excited about this new article, I might explode." I looked over Kolby's shoulder at Aniston, who had recently taken up crime blogging—since the school hadn't reacted so well to my interview and its mature subject matter—in addition to the school paper. Kolby was biting down on his lips, trying not to laugh as he turned away from her. "Hi, Aniston." "Hi." Then she paused, glancing between us on the floor, furrowing her brow. "Am I interrupting something?" I nodded, a slight smile on my lips. "A little." She gasped, grinning as she clasped her hands over her chest. "I'm interrupting something!" The jury found my sister guilty of one count of first-degree murder for Elizabeth Monner and then one count of second-degree murder for Griffin. The judge sentenced her to twenty-five years for Elizabeth Monner's murder and fifteen for Griffin's. The sentences were to be concurrent, meaning she would be eligible for parole when she was forty-three. It was something the prosecutors had prepared us for—judges were usually more lenient toward women. When the verdict was spoken, it was as if the courtroom awakened, brimming with so many responses articulated in one place. A few members of Elizabeth Monner's family started clapping. Her mother was crying, her body jolting at the words, her eyes squeezed tight, releasing tears out of the corners. In their places at the back of the courtroom, the Tomlins were less vocal—maybe because this meant that to some degree, the jury had also found their own son guilty—but their countenances showed relief and were streaked with their own tears. My father's shoulders drooped when he heard the verdict, as if his chest were crumbling inward. Then he leaned over to speak to Emily. I wasn't sure what he was whispering to her, but I was sure she could barely hear him. My mother held on to my hand, her eyes glistening beneath the courtroom lights, but she didn't say anything. She kept holding on until Emily was led out of the courtroom. Our feelings for her were always going to be complicated. There would never be an easy emotion for us to have about Emily. She would always be someone else. Someone else in our memories and someone else in front of us, our recollections and thoughts just as split and torn as her. But that wasn't wrong. It wasn't wrong to remember strawberry ice cream dripping down our wrists or afternoons shouting the lyrics to Carrie Underwood songs in her car. That version of her might never have been real to her, but it was to us, even if it wasn't there anymore. And now at the lakeshore, I stood in the sand that submerged my feet, the wind off the waves rustling through my hair. A graying sky loomed over the water, tingeing the color, as the cold waves swept over my ankles. It was exhilarating to stand there, a part of me breaking open and spilling out into the water, leaving me. I'd wanted to find an ocean abundant with familiar blue water, but I'd settled for Lake Ontario. Aniston had offered to come with me after spending the night, and Kolby had already texted me that morning, but I'd wanted to come alone. It was where I'd started and I didn't mind going back to it every now and then. I stood in the color I'd once felt had overtaken me, submerged me in its depths, and pulled me under the current I hadn't realized was there, as I tried to breathe but took in nothing but mouthfuls of water. Darkness and water had surrounded me, stuck in the center of a storm hidden beneath the glimmering, beautiful surface of bright and sparkling blue. Every storm has to calm. I stood in the color I'd thought had overtaken me, but now I was above it. Finally breaking through the glimmering surface and taking in that breath of air as the ocean blue finally fell away. the end